


Finer Feelings

by SubwayWolf



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Dom/sub Undertones, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Interfemoral Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:23:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: Domesticity is starting to bloom between Yuri and Otabek, along with comfort and that coveted feeling of safety - but they can still have fun, as well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm having a lot of trouble writing recently because i'm busy but here's something i did a while back that I finished up tonight. i hope everyone likes it, and it makes you smile! i love you all! enjoy!

Yuri had been slipping in and out of short naps for a while now. He was lying on his side, blankets bundled up all around him, facing the window and drowsily slipping into unconsciousness. The room-darkening blinds were fully shut but around their edges was a rectangular border of sunlight which, each time he opened his eyes, subtly drew dimmer and dimmer as the sun set outside.

A soft noise of the door opening woke Yuri up from his almost-sleep. He turned his head to see Otabek sneaking in the doorway, trying not to make a sound as he took off his coat. Otabek grimaced when he saw Yuri stir awake. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he whispered apologetically. He shut the door behind him and the light left in the room was pale and dim.

Yuri rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t sleeping,” he lied. 

Distantly, he wondered what time it was. He shifted his body around so he was on his back instead of his side and waited for Otabek to join him. He had left practice when the rest of the skaters did, but Otabek, being the overachiever that he was, stayed longer to study film with Coach Yakov. 

Yuri pretended to be surprised. “You’re home late, you damn try-hard.”

Otabek chuckled lightly. “Late? It’s only seven thirty.” His voice sounded almost like a dream, but that’s probably because Yuri was only half awake at the moment. “You’ve been enjoying your time off too much. How long have you been in bed?”

Yuri snuggled down under the covers and pulled them up over his nose, just peeking his eyes over the top. “Long time,” he answered in a voice muffled by the comforter. He had basically flopped right into bed after practice. He wiggled his toes to make sure he’d remembered to take his shoes off, and he had.

The bed shifted as Otabek sat down on it, adding his weight to the mattress and tilting it. “Did you eat dinner? We have a long practice tomorrow.” 

Otabek could act like quite the mother hen sometimes, which was endearing, because it was a nice way to show that he cared, and Yuri preferred that to when he was cold or reserved.

A smile crossed Yuri’s lips. “Yeah. I had your leftover pasta.” 

They always ate carb-filled foods before practices and dress rehearsals to build up their energy, and sometimes the training staff catered in spaghetti and marinara sauce for the end of practices, but Otabek was a picky eater and picked fancier meals out for himself. That was, of course, if Coach Yakov didn’t indulge him and order him something specially made (god, Otabek was such a teacher’s pet sometimes). It felt wrong to nuke the expensive pasta dish in the microwave, but it really had been so delicious. There was mushroom wine sauce, bits of sirloin, farfalle noodles... or were they torchiette? Yuri didn’t actually know the difference. He just knew it tasted good. 

He thought about how delicious the dish had been and remembered how much Otabek liked the taste of it. “Don’t be mad…” he pouted, starting to feel guilty.

Otabek wasn’t at all bothered by Yuri eating his food. “What’s mine is yours,” he said, not for the first time. He sat on the edge of the bed as he took off his socks. After a moment, he turned around, his voice sounding incredulous. “But really? You ate _all_ of that pasta? No wonder you’re falling asleep.”

The feeling of Otabek climbing under the covers and adding his body heat to his own was beyond comforting. Yuri wondered if it was dark enough so that Otabek couldn’t see him smiling like an idiot. “I’m glad you’re home,” he practically purred.

When Yuri opened his eyes halfway, he could see Otabek’s face getting closer to his, even through the dark. Otabek’s voice was dusky but sweet. “So am I.”

They finally met in a kiss, to greet and be close. Yuri’s motions were drowsy and slow, and Otabek didn’t rush him, just kissed him back at that same speed. Otabek put one hand on Yuri’s face, tilting it towards him, brushing his thumb across his jawline, caressing him gently. Yuri thought it was amazing how they’d kissed countless times since they’d first started their relationship, yet every single time felt new and tasted like heaven. Never a dull moment.

When the kiss separated, Yuri’s mind was starting to wake up and he remembered something that had happened during practice earlier that day. “So, did we get in trouble? I saw Coach called you in for a private meeting.” He tried extra hard to not make his tone sound suggestive. He learned early on that Otabek wasn’t fond of jokes like that.

They had snuck into the arena past closing hours. As a kid who spent most of his childhood on the streets of the poorer districts of Moscow, Yuri was exceptionally skilled in the not-so-fine arts of breaking and entering. Otabek hadn’t stopped him, though, and they spent an evening skating and laughing and kissing on the ice, even going as far as to touch each other through their clothes and for Yuri to get on his knees and blow him right there on the ice. In hindsight, they should have checked to make sure they were alone – though, in fairness, it was Otabek’s fault for being so loud.

Otabek sighed, then laid back on the bed beside Yuri. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “I was trying to forget about that.” Even so, it would feel better to just talk about it, and Otabek knew that better than anyone.

Yuri grimaced. “That bad, huh?” It really couldn’t have been _that_ bad, seeing that both Otabek and Yuri were still allowed at the rink. But Yuri knew how Coach could get, and that even if he wasn’t fuming with rage, he could still be strict and stern and genuinely terrifying.

Otabek shook his head and sighed again. It was less of an upset sigh and more of a frustrated one. “I don’t know exactly how much of our _date_ that he saw. Quite frankly, I don’t _want_ to know.” 

As usual when Otabek was unhappy, Yuri tried his best to think of a way to cheer him up. “He was probably so pissed off,” he started, already grinning. “I mean, all of those jumps you were over- and under-rotating… Your technique is really getting worse the older you get, and… well, no offense, but you’re getting pretty old.” He tried not to laugh at his own joke and seem lame, but it was hard to hold back.

This time when Otabek sighed, it was clear he was smiling. “I see you’re in a better mood,” he pointed out. Yuri always made stupid jokes when he was in a good mood, and always teased his boyfriend when he was in a great mood.

So observant, even in the dark. Yuri turned over on his other side to face Otabek and then wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close and putting his head against his chest. Otabek lifted his arm to give Yuri more room and then placed it back down and around him. Yuri exhaled contentedly. 

“With you here, how can I not be?” He realized too late how sappy that sounded, so he quickly redeemed himself by making another joke. “Ugh, you smell like sweat.”

Otabek’s body shook in a gentle, silent laugh. “Oh, sorry,” he apologized. He had probably wanted to take a shower as soon as he got home but was caught up seeing how cozy Yuri looked.

“No, I like it,” Yuri promised. He let his eyes fall closed as he inhaled a deep whiff of the cotton fabric of Otabek’s shirt. It smelled quintessentially like Otabek, with a hint of fabric softener. “It smells like… _you_. Big, strong, manly.” Yuri was glad Otabek couldn’t see his face because he was yet again smiling like an idiot.

With a soft gasp, Otabek pretended to be shocked and scandalized. “Are you flirting with me?” he asked exasperatedly.

Yuri tried not to laugh, but he ended up snorting. “I didn’t say it was a good smell,” he fussed. “Not that I mind having a big, strong, manly man around. You have your uses.”

“Like what?” Otabek joked, almost laughing to himself. “Reaching things off of really high shelves?”

Yuri ignored the fact that he was actually significantly taller than Otabek now that his body had changed. “ _No_ ,” he retorted, “I have Viktor for that. You can, uh…” he paused for effect, then started cracking up. “You can probably bench press me.”

Otabek just responded by laughing and planting a kiss on the top of his head. He began to rub Yuri’s back gently, trying to ease him back to sleep, when he noticed something. “Your muscles are still all tensed up, Yura. Are you worried about Saturday?” The sweet and caring tone of his voice almost made Yuri melt.

Saturday. The Rostelecom Cup was on Saturday. It would be their first Grand Prix event of the season. It won’t be their first time competing since they’d started dating, but it would be the first time they will have competed since Otabek had moved his training rink to Moscow, and they started living together, and Viktor and Yuuri were not in the bracket anymore… a lot had changed. There was a lot to look back on, and a lot ahead.

There was no point in lying to Otabek. He was so good at figuring things out sooner or later. Yuri hated to burden him with his problems again but saying them out lout always felt good. 

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I’m nervous, I guess. Now that Viktor and Georgi are both retired, everyone will expect me to be the strongest men’s singles skater in Russia. Everyone expects me to be the saving grace, to bring gold back home.” 

Yuri had missed getting any other golds that season and last season too, finding it very difficult to get used to his new body after puberty. He had his fair share of bronzes and silvers, but no golds since. Otabek had taken home that honor, and Yuri was happy for him. But appeasing Russia was very different, and it wracked his nerves.

“That’s a lot of expectations, a lot of hype. I don’t want to disappoint them.” He hated making the conversation all about himself, though. “You probably feel the same way about your home country, or at least you would, if you weren’t, like… super-human.”

Otabek didn’t let the joke, or, more aptly, defense mechanism, deter him from comforting Yuri. “I’m nervous too, Yura,” he said gently. “I am before every competition. And I understand what you mean about the hype, but you have to remember: it’s just talk. What you do with your actions will shut them right up.”

This really did made Yuri feel a hell of a lot better. Feeling Otabek’s hand tracing patterns around his back made him even more relaxed, like he was a kitten getting stroked. It wasn’t just this optimism that made Otabek such a great person to open up to, it was how calm he sounded, all the time, during _everything_. It was comforting for rinkmates, and intimidating for opponents.

Yuri was smiling, but Otabek wasn’t able to see that, so he kept the charade going. “The great Otabek Altin gets nervous? I don’t believe it!”

Otabek sighed again, and Yuri could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “We’re going to be fine, regardless of what happens. There comes a point where your talent takes over and your nerves are silenced. It has worked for me thus far; it will work for you too, if you let it.”

Yuri was suddenly starting to feel even more unconfident than before, and he wanted to kick himself for it. “It works for you, and has. You don’t need me,” he mumbled under his breath, hoping Otabek wouldn’t hear him.

“I _do_ need you,” Otabek clarified, not wasting a moment before answering. “Even if we don’t compete directly, you were at the rink, you were here, with me. And that matters.” He planted another kiss on Yuri’s head, keeping his lips there for a drawn out moment so he could smell his hair. “I love you, Yuri. You know that.”

Yuri felt his cheeks warming up, like he was back in grade school and his crush was complimenting him. Leave it to Otabek Altin to put butterflies into Yuri’s stomach just by saying a few words. 

“Yuck,” Yuri scoffed, “That was too sweet, you’re gonna give me a cavity.” Otabek refused to respond until Yuri took him seriously, so Yuri finally gave in. “Yeah. I love you, too.”

Otabek seemed pleased with that answer. He sat up in the bed and looked down at his lover, grinning smugly. His eyes were half-lidded, and the grin on his lips was familiar. He had an idea brewing in his head. 

“As I see it, there are two ways we can make you feel better.” He held up his fingers as he made the list. “One, you can get the stress fucked out of you, or two, you can focus that energy into fucking the stress out of me. Your call.”

Yuri stroked his chin to pretend like he was thinking hard about the decision. “Hmm…” He paused for dramatic effect. “I’m gonna go with… number one.”

Otabek leaned down and planted a short kiss on Yuri’s lips, then pulled back and smirked. “Good choice.” 

Yuri felt his heart kick up in pace. Otabek got off the bed and went over to the dresser by the door to retrieve something he had put there earlier. Yuri watched his every move. 

Otabek turned back, holding something in each hand. “Now, I know you can be stubborn, so…”

He had to get close for Yuri to make out exactly what he was holding. For the moment, Otabek was only displaying what appeared to be a long, silk ribbon, but it was just the right width and length to be used as a blindfold. 

Yuri practically snorted out a laugh. “It’s already dark in here, Beka. Man, you’re so kinky…”

Otabek climbed back onto the bed, keeping upright on his knees. “Don’t make me put a gag on you, Yuri.”

With that warning, he proceeded to toss the covers off Yuri and to the other half of the bed. Then, he slid the blindfold over Yuri’s eyes and tied it around the back of his head. He had to tie it rather snugly, because silk wasn’t optimal for staying in place, but at least it wouldn’t irritate his skin.

Yuri closed his eyes, because opening them was useless. His whole world went dark, and he was at Otabek’s mercy. He felt Otabek’s strong hand on his wrist, grabbing him and putting his arms above his head, side by side. He was already smiling, because he knew what was coming. Leather started to clasp over each wrist as the handcuffs were applied.

“Oh, I know what those are,” Yuri said in a sing-song voice. “What’s up with you, Beka? Taking control to relieve some of _your_ stress?”

“No more smart remarks,” Otabek warned him. “Or else.” 

The warning was so vague that Yuri almost started to laugh again, but he wouldn’t dare to. He held his breath and only smirked.

“I’m in charge now. Understand?” He was acting like this wasn’t how it was most of the times they had sex. Otabek was a natural at being in charge, on the ice and off.

Yuri still had a stupid smile on his face, and Otabek no doubt wanted to wipe it right off. “Yes, sir,” Yuri agreed sarcastically, and he would have saluted Otabek if his hands weren’t bound up. He could feel his cock going hard just at the tone of Otabek’s voice. He was just too good.

Yuri had to rely on his senses now. He could hear something being unwrapped and unrolled – a condom, which they didn’t really have to use seeing that they were fluid bonded, but they liked to keep extra clean and easy especially so soon before a competition. Also, they liked to cuddle afterwards instead of take the time to clean up loads of cream. 

The next sound was the unscrewing of a cap – of lubricant, no doubt. Yuri had always been particularly fond of being spread open and greased up with lube, especially with Otabek’s long, fluttering fingers that seemed to fuck Yura just as well as his thick cock did. Yuri was so relaxed and sleepy that he was already loose, relaxed, and ready for him, but Otabek made sure to lube him up well to make the process as seamless as possible.

Otabek’s huge hands were on Yuri’s thighs, holding him open so he could move inside. When he thrust in, he filled him up well, bottoming out nicely. Each slow thrust in and out eased whines out of the back of Yuri’s throat. Otabek grabbed him, his huge hand gripping Yuri’s slim wrists and holding them like handcuffs above his head, and with his other hand spread Yuri’s legs so he could push in and out as he pleased.

The way that Otabek put himself in without warning just made it so clear that Yuri was in the dark and completely at his mercy. It made his heart quicken - the waiting, unknowing what his lover was going to do next. He loved it the lack of control so much. He wanted Otabek to do whatever he wanted to him.

Otabek was an expert at staying slow-paced, almost agonizingly so. “You’re doing so good,” he said aloud, voice barely faltering. That asshole, he was always so cool and calm. “You’re taking me like a slut, Yura.”

Yuri bit his lip. Yuri loved it, he loved everything about it. He loved being praised by Otabek’s dark, low voice. He loved being held down, all of his lover’s weight atop him. He loved the feeling of Otabek’s condom-covered cock stuffing him up. It slid out and in so easily, and Yuri knew that not all of the credit could go to the lubricant – Yuri was wet and loose all on his own.

He loved it, but he had to talk back, something inside compelled him, like an instinct or intuition to be mean. He strained against his bindings, wanting to writhe free and grab something, preferably Otabek. “And you’re talking like a porn star. So lame and embarrassing…”

It wasn’t embarrassing. They were alone and together and nobody could see or hear them. Even holding hands in public still made Yuri blush so hard his ears burned, but here they were in their own home and could fuck as loud or as rough as they wanted, and nobody else was allowed in. 

But all of a sudden Otabek pulled himself out, and Yuri felt empty and cold. “What did I tell you would happen if you talked back again?” 

Mercilessly, Otabek thrust his dick along the ridge where Yuri’s thigh met his crotch, fucking him there instead, getting pleasure on his own and leaving Yuri to suffer.

Mouth practically hanging open, Yuri swiveled his hips downwards, urging towards something that wasn’t there. He practically growled; he knew that Otabek had him by the balls – figuratively. 

“Argh, Beka, you…” He didn’t want to give in. He didn’t want Otabek to win so easily. “God damn it! You’re such an asshole. Why do you have to torture me like this!?”

Of course, Otabek knew Yuri well enough to know that he didn’t mean any of that. But he kept up with the game they were playing. “That wasn’t very nice,” he murmured, moving his hands from Yuri’s thighs to his hips, continuing to slide his rubber-covered cock between Yura’ legs.

If this was supposed to be a method to get rid of his stress, it was doing the opposite. Yuri’s cock was starting to ache between his legs, badly, and his balls were stiffening up from the lack of touch. His legs still wrapped around Otabek’s waist, he tried to urge him forward with no success. 

Yuri protested through clenched teeth, “Ah, fuck – fuck… just touch me, god damn it!” He felt so empty, like something inside him was missing. He wanted to cry out.

It was such a primal experience, to hear Otabek’s voice and feel his burning body heat but not be able to see him or where he was or what he was doing, just to feel. They’d known each other so intimately for so long that Yuri found himself almost able to predict his next movements or hear his next words, as if his ears were tuned to the tone of his partner’s voice.

Yuri clenched his fists, baring teeth in a grimace. He wanted Otabek inside of him, _now_ , he wanted – “I want you! Please, Otabek,” he whined, practically sobbing. “I want you so bad, I want you inside me. Ah, please, just… please, Otabek. I love you, and I want you, and… _please_.” 

That was all Otabek needed to hear. When he fucked back into Yuri, as deep as he could go before forcing any resistance, Yuri let out a long whine of relief and instantly clenched around him, building up the heat and friction and wetness that was lost for what seemed like an eternity.

With every repeated, gradual thrust inwards, the head of Otabek’s cock pushed against Yuri’s prostate briefly each time he went in or out. The friction became what he anticipated most, and he could have sworn there were colors flickering behind his closed eyes and the blindfold each time the pressure increased. 

“Yes,” Yuri gasped, hands balling into fists. “Right there… that’s good…”

His words were cut off when Otabek reached over and started to stroke Yuri’s cock for him. The pleasure was so intense that Yuri’s eyes were rolling back behind the blindfold.

Otabek, in his dusky, low voice, asked, “You like that, huh?”

He spoke so gorgeously, like they were hidden in the back of a church, his voice carrying across empty marble service halls – he spoke like that only to be answered by light moans and whines, as Yuri rolled his hips for him as Otabek pounded him deep into the back, hips clashing hips as far as they could go.

Yuri couldn’t issue a warning before he shot come all inside Otabek’s hand and fingers, and as it was shooting out his body seized up, internal muscles clenching hard around Otabek’s dick, squelching sounds resulting as Otabek tried to pull out but it was so tight around him that he came too, spurting into the condom and letting out exasperated noises of his own.

Yuri was practically panting with the relief of it all. Pleasure just continued to rush around inside his brain, and he was so preoccupied with the afterglow that Otabek pulling his cock out did little more than illicit a tired whine from his throat. 

He felt a hand on his own as Otabek removed his grip on his wrists and released him. Yuri wrung his wrists to get blood flowing in them again. Then he felt the bed shifting and Otabek’s body heat suddenly grow absent, as he must have been cleaning up. Then Yuri felt a few fingertips slide underneath the back of the silk blindfold, untying it and sliding it off so the smooth material slid off his face like a ribbon.

When Yuri finally gained the energy to open his eyes, it was still as dark in the room as he’d remembered, but he blinked a few times and he could see Otabek coming back. He was too exhausted to keep his eyes open any longer so he let them close again, and soon enough Otabek was slipping into bed beside him, cuddling against him, and wrapping his arms around him under the covers.

They fit together so perfectly in bed there, like two puzzle pieces, their body sizes the exact ratio to mold together precisely. 

Otabek was so warm, and so was his voice and breath when he leaned over to tickle Yuri’s ear and ask, “Feel better?”

Grinning warmly, Yuri took a deep breath, and when he exhaled he let out a soft hum. It sufficed as a yes, but not just that – it showed contentedness and peace and _love_ , even without words. And best of all, Otabek didn’t need words to understand.


End file.
